One Day More
by Ms.Rookroll
Summary: "So I guess this goes back, back to the barricade and the shredded red and black banners on the wet streets. Back to the day that shouldn't have been, but was." Éponine struggles after surviving the barricade, while her path will cross with a certain blond haired revolutionary. É/E.
1. Prologue

So here I am, armed with nothing but a blank piece of paper, the writing tool on my right hand and my own mind. A poor team, if you ask me, to try to bring the events back to life, and I know beforehand that whatever I write in here will only be a sketch, a half cooked piece of clay, made up of distant memories and painted by nostalgia. But even this version, this far from perfect paper creation, will be better than nothing...

If I try, I think I can see him now, leaning on the table, his back to me. I can see the ruffled white fabric of his chemise, that slips down one of his shoulders and the stained bandages that part his blond hair in two. He mumbles something, suddenly raises his voice and threatens the empty space in front of him.

It's one of _those_ nights.

From the upper part of the stairs that lead to the cellar, I watch him as I hold my candle, hoping he does not see me. I freeze as I wonder what's better, to stop him before he starts using his crutch as a sword or to turn around and fetch madame Trépat. It does not matter because in a second he turns around and chooses for me. His hand is wrapped around my wrist and it was so sudden that I'm yelling for madame, as if the roles had reversed and I was the student and he the gamin.

I can still feel his tight grasp around my wrist and see the feverish droplets that run down his bandaged forehead. But this memory, even if it seems so clear to me, is like a single note in the middle of a song, its importance cannot be fully perceived without the notes before it. So I guess this goes back, back to the fallen barricade and the shredded red and black banners on the wet streets. It goes back to the darkness, and the smell of death. To the day that shouldn't have been, but was.

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**A little note here! **

**First of all, thanks for taking a look at the story, each read means the world to me, so thank you! Second, any feedback is welcomed, positve, negative, comments, questions, just feel free to comment. The story will be mainly based on the musical and movie version, but I hope I can capture some of the nature of the story. Les Miserables, belongs to the master Victor Hugo...and greetings from Colombia.**


	2. Chapter 1

So cold, so dark.

What was the first bridge between the limbo and reality?

The smell, I think it was the smell because at the moment I had not understood that the burning sensation on my back, those stings, were part of reality. But the smell, it brought me back. Not immediately, of course. But as it reached me, I could not stop thinking about the alleys at night, where those piles of garbage and disposed meat stack, where dogs and people sometimes battle for a chicken bone. That was how I knew I had a nose, well, I either had a nose or …Could the priests' jabbers be true? Was this hell? After all, an eternity of coldness and darkness along with the stench could be a more terrifying hell than the one they warn you about in mass, or what I remembered they warned you about in mass. How long it seemed since I stepped into a church. But rather than trying to pinpoint the last time I had heard a priest (I think it was before my father lost the inn), I focused on trying to open my eyes. It took me more than one attempt, I won't lie, but finally I was able to leave my stone eyelids opened for a moment. A moment, long enough for me to see blurry shapes. After another try, I managed to keep them open until the shapes transformed in clouds. Clouds?

Clouds. The grayish clouds had formed a sort of net, through which only a few glimpses of the pinkish sky behind them could be seen. Dawn. But how? Only then did the sensations of before intensify. My back was burning as if I had slept naked on top of a frozen lake. But the pain was different to the one that made my shoulder throb. I turned my head to the right and I was met by a pair of brown eyes, wide opened and staring into the void. A young man was there, his cheeks were smudged and exceptionally pale and a lonely fly perched near his nostrils. I got it then.

Of course, my first impulse was to get up and run away from the bodies that laid next to me. But after my first attempt I only managed to fall back on the asphalt with the weight of my whole body crushing my wounded shoulder as I shrieked. Someone must have heard it, for, the second time I tried to get up, someone was there to hold me. When the world stopped spinning, I saw the row of men lying on the street, one next to the other like fish in the market place. Some women were with them, trying to drag them down the street or pulling their sleeves. They cried. They were the mothers, the sisters, the wives and even the daughters of the barricade. And it was one of them who held me.

I wished to thank her, but before I could manage to speak, I was stunned by another image.

A blond haired boy was lying among the men, his little hands resting on his chest and his eyes closed. I felt my knees tremble and all I could think of was to reach him so I could wake him up, yes wake him and carry him away from that wretched street. I had woken, maybe he could too. I managed to free myself from my helper, but after a few steps, I fell again. There was a sharp whistle and as the world vanished around me once more, Gravroche's face appeared in the darkness, a single thought crossed my mind.

_Why him and not me?_

* * *

Twice, not once, but twice did I wake up that day in which I shouldn't have been able to see. But how…why…why was I there, why could I see the dawn through the cracked window? And Gavroche, why wasn't he there when he had so many reasons to go on while I had none.

I had woken up inside a narrow room where the only light came from the window located to my right. It didn't take me long to realize I was resting on a bed, or more accurately, a cot, which smelled like the city's sewers. The air was heavy, soaked with a mixture of molasses and alcohol, but my shoulder was bandaged and I was no longer on the streets. I would be lying if I said I was not relieved at first, when I woke up, for I feared I could have been buried alive. Imagine my surprise when I found myself there in the middle of what seemed an ordinary house. At my left there were two more cots, each occupied by sleeping -I liked to believe they were sleeping-, patients, rescued, I presumed, from the barricade like myself.

I tried to sleep, but my neighbor suffered from a terrible cough fit which made the whole place tremble. I had not even been able to sit up, when a woman stormed into the room with a wooden bucket in her hands. The young man next to me spent the following minutes leaning over it and when he was done and fell over the bed again, the woman left the room before I had a chance to speak to her.

I had no rest after that. The events played on in my head, and it was only a matter of time before that name came up again. Marius, Marius, _Marius_. Where could he be? Did he survive? Was he one of the men on the street or was he suffering in a similar bed somewhere else? He was probably being tended by _her_, his head probably rested in her lap and she could care for him and sing songs or read to him in a way in which I could only dream of doing. It burned, almost as much as my wounded shoulder, but I wished him well, I wished he was happy and healthy, else that blood I had spilt under the rain would have meant nothing at all.

He was gone now, though. What was I left with? And to think that, if that old chair had not snapped when it did, the bullet would have gone right through my heart. Rest, at last. But there I was, nonetheless, and Marius, my dear Marius, where could _he_ be? It was then that it occurred to me that maybe he could be in that very same room, hell he could even be my poor neighbor whose face I had not seen clearly!

I only had to stand up and see.

It was easier said than done, but I managed to crawl out of the cot, and tiptoeing, for I feared to wake my neighbors, I walked towards the next bed. I did not recognized the first man who was lying there, but he looked utterly unwell, aside from the dry blood around his mouth, the color had drained from his face and his chest barely moved up and down, I was scared to think what his bandages hid underneath. I moved on to next cot, and even in the darkest spot of the room, I was able to recognize the young man's face.

It was Enjolras.

His cheeks were as white as snow, his golden locks, covered in dirt and sweat, fell over his bandaged forehead, that dirty fabric failed to cover the long scratches that stretched over his nose, his arms were covered in small scratches and bruises which ranged from purple to green to black and there was a tourniquet bellow his left knee, where the dry blood had formed a poultice. My throat was knotted. Was this the same man whose voice roared above the crowd? The one rambling on and on about the republic? To look at him so broken was sorrowful, even to me who had not shared more than two or three words with him. I wished to talk to him, ask him about Marius's fate, but I knew I could not disturb him, and even if I did, I knew he would be in no state to answer questions. So there he laid, the embodiment of the revolution beaten and bandaged and brought to his knees along with so many that had been silenced that dreadful night of June.

* * *

**So here is the first chapter, any suggestions and comments are more than welcomed! ****Special thanks to Alex-samsprout**** and Pheobetitanessofthemoon1234! **

**Greeting from Colombia**


	3. Chapter 2

Monsieur Bayard was a tall man who had, for every hair missing in his head, two in his chin. In contrast, madame Bayard was a plum woman, whose face had the peculiar trait of resembling pudding or cream, her little nose seemed to be sinking gradually and one could not help to think that in a couple of hours only the tip would remain. She had the habit of wiping her hands in her apron and overusing the word 'darling'.

They had come in the afternoon to carry my neighbor's body away.

I had not noticed, I had not even suspected that…It was only until they came in, that I found out. I apologized for this, a man had taken his last breath next to me and I did not even stir. But you see, there were no signs, no shouts, not the slightest hint of pain or fear, there was nothing. He was breathing and then he wasn't, as simple as that. When madame and monsieur returned to clean the bed, I apologized again. They looked pale, but neither of them shed a single tear, which somehow made the scene more sorrowful. Monsieur Bayard said there was nothing he or me or anyone but 'the good Lord' could have done for my neighbor. He proceeded to introduce himself and his wife. These were my saviors and my torturers as well, the only ones who had stood between me and the eternal rest.

I thanked them, though, for it seemed wrong not to.

"But madame Bayard, monsieur, " I added immediately "I don't have anything to pay you with for all your trouble."

"It's alright, darling" She said with a faint smile which did not allow me to forget she had just carried a dead man out of the room. Monsieur Bayard nodded in agreement and his wife excused herself for she had to attend a soup that was boiling in the kitchen.

"How are you feeling?" Monsieur Bayard asked, if I had not been lying on my cot, I would have had to turn around to verify no one was standing behind me. Why would he care about me?

"Much better monsieur, thank you again for everything." I replied after a moment "But, do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Go ahead." He replied as he set to the task of taking away the sheets of the neighboring bed.

"Why did you help me?"

"My wife and I have lived in this street for a long time, far before the boys came and sadly it seems we shall live here far after they're gone." He made a solemn pause here, then continued. "They're good boys, we couldn't just leave them there. We don't have a lot of space, but we took in whatever survivors we could, and you, mademoiselle, were one of them."

'Mademoiselle' I repeated mentally.

"Well thank you monsieur, do you need any help with those sheets?"

"No, don't worry, you need to rest. Those stitches are not very strong. I'm no doctor, but I know a thing or two…although, I fear that won't be enough" He said this glancing at the bed on which Enjolras rested. "My wife has contacted his aunt, she does not live so far away, we shall take him there once he's better."

"I see…Do you mind, monsieur, if ask another thing?"

"Go ahead." He replied, folding the sheets.

"Do you happen to know anything about monsieur Marius, Marius Pontmercy?"

"I heard he escaped, someone carried him away. But I fear that's all I know."

"That's more than enough" I sighed, unable to hide my relief "thank you monsieur."

"You two were close?"

There was a long pause.

"N-no, not really…" I felt my eyes watering, so I looked away. For some reason the idea of monsieur Bayard seeing me cry seemed embarrassing.

He asked no more about the subject and prepared to leave the room with the sheets, nonetheless, before exiting, he stopped by the window and looked out at the street.

"Soldiers" He whispered, as if the uniformed men in the outside could hear him "they have been hunting survivors all day. But he'll be fine as long as they don't come in here."

"I'll keep an eye open."

"Thank you- I did not get a chance to hear your name."

"Éponine."

"Thank you Éponine"

Once he left, I felt my eyes watering again and this time I could only fight the tears for a limited amount of time, so when madame Bayard came in later with a bowl of watery soup, she found me sobbing silently. She asked me what was wrong and I could not answer. She asked me if I was in pain, and I was, but it was not my shoulder wound what caused my tears, I knew it was something far more irreparable. She was such a nice lady, she even brought me a cup of water and some words of courage, which only made me feel more embarrassed. I chose to tell her about my brother, for, at the moment, it seemed like the most concrete of my evils, and the only one I could express with words.

The tears stopped promptly, but that feeling, that untraceable sorrow, it did not fade. I could feel it crushing my chest and, in the silence of that narrow room, it consumed me like burning wood, slowly but steadily.

The sunlight was gone before I knew it, and replaced by a dark sky. The smoke from neighboring chimneys rose and disappeared among the clouds, taking the place in which stars should have stood. But this view had little importance, for the real focus was within the walls of the room.

It began with a faint grunt, a groan, a sound that could have easily been made by the old house itself. But it lingered on, grew slightly louder and intelligible. It was not the creaking of wood or the wind which entered through the window, it was a voice.

"Wa…"

A voice? But that could only mean...I got up as fast as I could and rushed towards the bed at the darkest spot of the room.

"Wat…water…"

Enjolras was awake. I reached for the cup of water that madame had brought earlier for me, and sat on the edge of his bed. Carefully, I guided the cup to his lips and waited for him to gulp down whatever was left inside. He could barely keep his eyelids from closing, but I could see his blue eyes looking at me.

"Épo…nine?"

I think the fact that he recognized me surprised me as much as the fact of seeing me there surprised him, but then again, I had spent a fair amount of time haunting his headquarters.

"Hang on, I'll call monsieur Bayard"

"Wait" He pleaded faintly and I abstained from standing up. "The…others..?"

I bit my lips. And something in my face must have been able to transmit that which my lips refused to speak, for he let out a curse and clenched his teeth and shut his eyes.

I was about to leave the room to rally monsieur Bayard, but I had not even taken two steps when madame herself opened the door abruptly. She was panting and had only enough air to utter a single sentence.

"The soldiers are coming"

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**Sorry for the shortness :S**

**Special thanks to Alex-samsprout, ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo, Midnightstar-and-Echosong and ssg38, for their support! As always any comments are more than welcomed, and happy weekend**

**Greetings from Colombia**


	4. Chapter 3

The man had just been recalled to life. He probably had no idea of where he was or what was happening, but his left arm was already over my shoulders as madame Bayard and I helped him downstairs. He had to lean on me for support, for he could not use his left leg at all. It didn't seem to cause him pain either, or else he would have screamed when madame moved it to help him out of the bed. Truth be told, he probably did not feel anything anymore from the knee down anymore.

Madame had been very clear: as she and monsieur Bayard dealt with the soldiers, who knocked on the door desperately, I was to carry him, find a fiacre and take him to his aunt's house.

The task, which would have been difficult even if we had been remarkably healthier, seemed impossible.

I could feel his weight pressing on my wounded shoulder, but there was no other way, he would not have been able to stand without leaning on someone, so I just tried to ignore the pain by repeating over and over the address of his aunt's house. Madame opened the back door shortly after we heard monsieur Bayard's voice greeting the soldiers. She gave us a blessing and a goodbye, for she had to run upstairs and fix the room before the uniformed men went there. I like to believe she was able to do so, and that the soldiers didn't find anything to charge them with, but like most stories of this kind, it is better not to know the real ending.

I didn't get a chance to, either. Suddenly, Enjolras and I were out in the streets, limping through the darkness. We could barely walk and I feared I would fall down at any moment, bringing him to the ground with me. To the right there was an alley and I judged darkness would be our friend and ally, so I guided us towards it. I tried to run as fast as I could, feeling his warm body on my shoulders with each step. A moist came from the alley and I couldn't stop feeling the walls were getting narrower and narrower.

I kept repeating the address over and over as well, but it did little to distract me from the growing pain. I could only think of throwing up, and the weight on my shoulders seemed to be growing while I became closer to the floor, which, for some reason, would not stop moving. Before I knew it, one of my ankles bent.

I fell.

He grunted.

There were footsteps coming towards the alley.

I could not stand up right away and I certainly had no strength to lift him, but we had to be quick, someone was coming, I could hear the footsteps becoming louder. I managed to stand up. I wrapped my arms under his.

"I'm sorry" I whispered "but this will hurt."

Without further warning, I dragged him to a dark corner where several barrels, wooden boxes and empty bottles were stacked. I heard his grunts as his legs slid over the poodles of rain water and the shrieks of rats which I could not see but I could feel running next to my feet. The footsteps grew louder.

I clutched next to Enjolras behind the barrels, making sure he was well hidden.

"Just leave me he-" I covered his mouth with my hand, a bit too harshly perhaps, before he could finish the sentence. With my eyes I begged him not to continue once I let go.

I looked at the entrance of the alley, where I could see a silhouette. By his body build, it was safe to assume it was a soldier. A supposition confirmed by the sound of his boots against the stones, and the golden insignia which glittered momentarily on his chest. From my corner I watched in silence, I could hear the beating of my heart in my ears like a snare drum in the gallows. Enjolras breathed loudly next to me, the soldier walked further. Beat. Breath. Boot. Beat, breath, boot. Beat, breath, stop.

"I see you."

For a moment I thought I had swallowed my own heart. Quick! But what to do! I quickly grabbed one of the empty bottles on the ground, my hands were sweaty and it nearly slipped, but I was able to hold on to it as I stood up.

"Good night, officer" I said, trying my best to sound as drunk as possible. The illusion was enhanced by my loss of balance, caused truly by the quickness with which I had stood up.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded.

"Pardon-moi, monsieur le soldat," As I replied I moved away from the barrels "I didn't know it was a crime to sleep here."

"Are you alone?" He briefly looked around, squinted at the dark corner.

"All alone, sadly." I stood between him and Enjolras's hiding place, I even dared to play with his insignia in an attempt to distract him. "Have you come to keep me company?"

"Back off. Have you seen anything odd around here?"

"Odd? No, not at all, no, no…at all"

"Anyone running around here?"

"Oh then yes! I saw three men running in that direction" I pointed at the entrance of the alley which lead back to the main street. "They went down the street and then I saw them disappear through one of the alleys to the left."

"How did they look?"

"They, well, they were young and…and revolutionary…"

"They_ looked_ revolutionary?"

"You better stop them, monsieur."

"That way, you say?"

I nodded.

"If you're lying you little-, I'll come back and make sure you know what pain is."

"I wouldn't dare to, monsieur."

He turned around and left the alley. I waited until the footsteps faded to return to Enjolras. He had not passed out, so that was a good sign.

"C'mon, we're almost there" I lied as I tried to lift him, managing only to inflict more pain on both, him and myself. I would have to drag him the rest of the way. I apologized in advance.

I gathered strength. And although my shoulder was killing me and my knees trembled, I was not going to stop. Because, if I was going to die soon, and by this point I was pretty certain that I was, I could at least help him before doing so.

For every step, the alley seemed to grow three more. I had to stop to take my breath quite often, but we continued, I dragged him across those cold stones trying to cause as little pain as possible, which in his state and mine was rather difficult. But somehow, we made it to the other end. Afterwards, finding a coach was easy. I believe the coachman himself helped Enjolras get in, else I cannot explain how he ended inside the fiacre. By that point, you see, the world was spinning around me, and the following events were wrapped by a thick fog.

I recited the address, I believe I recited it far more times that it needed to be. I can't really remember the ride, but I remember I stepped out eventually, and there was a woman in a violet dress. She said something, but I only remember the violet dress. Yes, the violet dress…Enjolras in the arms of strangers…the coach resuming its way…a glimpse of the moon above as I began to walk aimlessly.

Walking aimlessly, for, before they could invite me inside, if they were even planning to, I was already on my way. I was off to do what I knew how to do best, and what, now that there was truly nothing left for me, was the only thing to be done: roam the streets. I had cheated death once, but I was certain I was bound to finally find her again, hiding somewhere in those cold Parisian streets.

* * *

How long did I walk? Where was I? I don't know, but the scene seemed familiar. Dark streets, scattered thoughts, freezing breeze crawling through my bones. It was a remarkably cold night, for my hands and feet ached. The only source of warmth seemed to be my right shoulder which was covered by a liquid that I mistook at the moment for sweat. As if driven by an invisible force, I found myself surrounded by dirty streets and the usual faces that come out at night.

The folk of always, woman in cheap dresses, with heavy makeup and huge breasts, who lost interest in me as soon as they realized I was just another gamine, and the filthy men who counted sous besides them and whose interest grew as they realized I was just another gamine. I had no intent to approach or address either, I had no intent but to the walk the streets and wait, just wait until it was all over. A simple enough purpose, yet nothing is ever so simple, is it?

"Are you alone, my girl?"

A man had approached me, I did not even look at him, but I could not walk fast enough to lose him.

"By God!" He grabbed my wrist and I had no strength to stop him. "You poor girl, you're hurt!"

"I don't-"

"You'll bleed out, my girl."

"I really-"

"Or freeze to death."

"But I-"

"Eh Scarlet! Scarlet!" Without freeing my wrist, he turned his face to the side. Suddenly, a blond haired woman approached us. I remembered thinking , or rather, wondering, how could her bountiful make up fail to hide the lines under her eyes and above her lips.

"Scarlet, this poor girl is hurt, take her to the house and make sure she's taken care of."

The woman nodded and as soon as he released me from his grasp, she was already holding me to make sure I would not lose my balance.

"Oh poor child, look at you, your coat is full of blood! What happened to you! Don't you worry, we'll get you fixed in a second. How does a bed and a piece of bread sound, huh? "

To be honest, it sounded surprisingly nice. With some resignation I let her guide me inside an old house which I could not look at before we entered through a narrow door. What did it matter if I ate some bread there or not, in the end I was bound to find death soon, I knew it had to be so.

By the loud moans and groans and grunts, I got a pretty good idea of what type of house it was. I was too tired to care, though. Scarlet led me to a second floor and into one of the few rooms whose door was opened. Inside there was only a bed and a table on which a clock stood next to a lonely candle which, when she ignited it, provided the only light of the place.

"Let's take a look"

And without further ado, she calmly took away my coat and my chemise, exposing the stained bandages on my shoulder. She removed them slowly, and made such a variety of grimaces that I could only imagine the wound she was looking at.

"This ain't a stab, is it child? This was a bullet, no doubt! But don't worry, there's nothing Rodolphe's rum can't fix, just wait here"

I considered leaving right away, but a part of me, the most primal part if you wish, refused to leave the relatively warm room and step out to the cold again, so when she returned with a suspicious brown bottle, needle and thread, I was still sitting on the bed where she had left me.

"You don't have to do this, I-" I didn't get to continue because she poured some of the liquid on the brown bottle on my wound. I clenched my teeth and dug my nails on the mattress so hard that they hurt afterwards. I let out a small shriek, not louder than the ones that came from the neighboring room.

"And this isn't even the beginning" She said with a smile. "Drink some."

She passed me the bottle, and in an attempt to mute the senses, I gulped some of the rum, which went down my throat like a cat with its claws unsheathed.

When I put the bottle away I noticed with terror that she had grabbed the needle and the thread. I tried to stand up, but she was quicker and with little effort her hand was pressed on my healthy shoulder making sure I couldn't flee. I had no time to argue before the needle pierced my skin, but it was only when I felt the thread passing through the wound that the world went black.

I was unlucky enough to be alive the next morning and the one after that.

* * *

**I left a little easter egg (Is that how it's called, 'easter eggs'?), well a little reference from Dicken's A Tale of Two Cities at the beginning. Thanks to canterwoodgames, Break This Spell666, RosePhin, Midnightstar-and-Echosong, ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo and Alex-samsprout for all their support! As always any comment, suggestion, or question is more than welcomed.**

**Greetings from Colombia**


	5. Chapter 4

You could tell a girl had been slapped by Rodolphe Lheureux by the small round laceration that his ring left on her skin, for, you see, his trademark was to use the back of his hand rather than the palm. Although Scarlet's specialty was the treatment of this kind of wounds and other similar bruises, under her care and watch I had recovered significantly during the curse of the week. There is little to be said about the period of time in which I stayed in the house. There was food, black bread mainly, but food after all, dresses I could borrow and a bed -which I prefer not to describe- for me to gain my strength. The first few days I was overtook by a violent fever which had the ability of mixing illusions with reality and more than once, I engaged in long desperate conversations with Marius or Gavroche. But the fever was not enough to take me down, and as the days elapsed, I was regaining a sense of reality. Which, considering _my _reality, was nothing to celebrate.

I pretended to be weaker than I was. I was no moron (although it could work on my behalf to pretend I was), and I knew that sooner rather than later I would stop being a guest and become a worker in the house. So, from my convalescence bed, I used to think of diverse ways for escaping. Leaving at nightfall was not an option because it was when the house was more alive and aware than ever, and somehow Rodolphe managed to keep an eye on every girl, including myself. And during the day I could not lose sight of my caretakers either, for Scarlet was constantly going in and out of my room. So each day that passed, it became harder to fake that my illness had not subsided.

And thus, the dreaded day arrived before I could do anything about it.

Girard was the most loyal and most distinguished of Rodolphe's customers. I never knew with certainty, but I believe he occupied an important position somewhere. This, along with his big-spender disposition, garnered him the treatment of a king every time he stepped into the house every morning. And he did come _every_ morning, or at least he did during the week I had spent there. I had learned to observe from afar, and I had seen the routine many times. Girard would enter, greet Rodolphe Lheureux, and ask for one specific girl, usually the brown skinned Henriette. While the preparations were made, Lheureux would offer rum to Girard as he waited. And it was good liquor too, or at least better than the one they had given me the first night I was taken in.

That day, there was something different.

Instead of looking for Henriette, Lheurex was calling Scarlet. I was inside one of the rooms when they met each other in the corridor and opted to press my ear against one of the walls without being seen. A cow eavesdropping on its owner and the butcher's conversation.

"It's too soon, Rodolphe" That was, unmistakably, Scarlet's voice.

"Too soon! She's been here for over a week, woman, it's about time she starts paying for the roof over her head and the food in her mouth. This one has been particularly expensive."

"She was shot Rodolphe, she's too weak. What happened to Henriette anyway?"

"She no longer amuses Girard, he wants something new. Now, where is she?"

"Rodolphe, understand, she's not ready, not yet."

"If I didn't know you better, woman, I'd say you're covering up for her."

"Well it's a good thing you do know me better. Listen, what do you think monsieur Girard'll say if she faints in the middle of it, or throws up or starts bleeding, do you think he's gonna be pleased?"

I was silent, knowing that I could not leave the room or I would run directly into them.

"I'll take my chances. Do I look like a bloody nun to you? Do I! No? That's because I run no dam charities! She's no guest here, you know that better than anyone else, she's an investment."

"But Rodolphe-"

"Don't you dare" He used that ultimatum voice I had heard him use with the girls sometimes, right before delivering one of his trademark slaps "Don't you dare, Scarlet, make me ask again."

"Alright, calm down… I'll send her in."

"Be quick or Girard will finish all the booze in this house, le salaud."

When Scarlet entered the room, she found me looking out the window tentatively, as I calculated the damages a fall from that height could cause. It was the worst height possible, probably not enough to kill me but enough to fracture half of the bones in my body.

"My child, let me look at you"

I turned to face Scarlet, still tempted to break the glass and let myself fall to the street. I could not bring myself to do it, though, so I would have to appeal to her.

"Miss, Scarlet, please…I'll find a way to pay you for everything."

"That dress" She said stepping closer "is quite pretty, is it one of Thérèse's? Well, not that it really matters. The dress is the last thing he'll be looking at, but it's still pretty. I'll just need to comb you hair, my child, and you'll be ready."

"Please, I'll pay you back for everything, I'll find a way, I promise I will."

"My child, that's not how it works. Don't be afraid, monsieur Girard is not a bad man, he's what you could call a gentleman, it'll be over before you notice. And who knows, you might even like it."

"I really, really, _really _doubt that. Please, I can't do this, not today. I'm still under a lot of pain here, my shoulder's killing me, and I feel dizzy already."

"Maybe he'll let you be on top."

"C'mon! Please, Scarlet, please, have mercy. There must be something, anything, I can do to stop this."

"I'm sorry my child, maybe if it wasn't Girard…but you have to understand that I can't-"

"What's taking so long!" Rodolphe Lheureux stormed into the room. "She looks ready to me, c'mon, we can't keep him waiting."

And next thing I knew, he was dragging me out of the room and down the corridor. As I struggled, he took me into another chamber, pushed me inside and locked the door from the outside. My first impulse was to shake the door knob in a desperate attempt to open the door, but of course, it was all in vain. I turned around to see the room.

Just like the others, there was a bed, a table and a clock on top of it. The only difference seemed to be the fat man seated on the edge of the bed. I had never found the man threatening until I was confined in that room with him. Girard used his free hand, for the other was holding a glass of liquor, to play with his moustache as he set his dark eyes on me.

"Well well well. Finally something fresh, what's your name girl?" With each word his double chin shook repeatedly.

I remained silent and looked at the side where the only window was located.

"A little shy, aren't we? Come, come here so I can look at you."

I stood still.

"Come I tell you!" He shouted, putting down the glass on the table with such strength I feared it would break.

I walked slowly towards him, as if my ankles were shackled.

"Let me see you." He smiled pulling me closer to him. I put no resistance when he wrapped one of his hands around my waist, and while I grazed his sweaty cheek with my right hand, I picked the clock on the table at my back with the left.

"I think I'm going to like this" He purred, and before he could pull me closer I lifted the clock and slammed it against his head in one simple motion. The blow left him dizzy, but only after I struck him a second time did he fall on the bed, unconscious.

I didn't know how hard the blow had been, but a thin red thread stretched from his forehead. I smacked him again, just in case he woke up before I had managed to escape. I ran towards the window and was considering once more jumping through it when there were knocks on the door.

"Éponine" One of the girls whispered from the other side "I heard some thuds, are you alright? Should I call Rodolphe?"

"Don't!" I replied "I-my wound reopened, it's a mess, everything's full of blood."

"Oh my!"

"Don't call Rodolphe, he'll be so angry if he sees this mess, I just need to wash up and go out to find a handkerchief or something."

"Sure, I'll open right away."

"Thank you"

While she unlocked the door, I moved quickly towards the unconscious Girard and took whatever I could find in his pockets, which was, surprisingly, not much. I left the clock back on the table and walked towards the door before the other girl could step into the room and see the man on the bed. I made sure to press my hand against my shoulder wound and pretend I was trying to stop the bleeding.

"Please could you fetch me a handkerchief or some rags?" I asked the girl who nodded and ran down the corridor.

I waited until she stepped into one of the rooms to leave mine. I quickly closed and locked the door behind me, and, in an attempt to buy me some time, I took the keys with me. Like a lightning bolt I ran downstairs, and aimed for the back door. Usually, during the day, Lheureux remained near the front door looking out for customers, while Scarlet was upstairs resting with the girls, so they would probably not notice me if I didn't give them a reason to. Like a shadow I moved about the house, finally reaching the back door. It creaked as I opened it, but I didn't think twice before running into the streets, leaving behind me the house's open door.

My foremost priority was to find a hiding place, any hiding place, where I could stay for a considerable amount of time. Men like Lheureux were not the kind of men to leave an offense go scot-free especially when it was against their manhood or their pocket. I had hurt both.

It occurred to me briefly to go home, but between my father and Lheureux there was barely a difference. I could always run towards the river and just end it all with one dive, but in the daylight? Someone was bound to see me, and I could already picture the turmoil and the exclamations as someone dragged me out of the water, still breathing. And for sure, being found by Lheureux, which would probably happen if I didn't make a decision quickly, would be far worse than anything else. What to do, what to do. But wait-

I still remembered the address to which I had taken Enjolras…maybe it was about time to pay him a little visit.

* * *

**A little big note here: I won't be uploading anything next week because it's Semana Santa here (Spring break!) and I'll be travelling. Still I hope I'll be posting a new chapter on Monday (21st), so thank you for your patience. :)**

**Special thanks to Break This Spell666, ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo, Midnightstar-and-Echosong, a guest (or two, I don't know) and Freedom909 for their support and their wonderful reviews which make my days brighter!**

**Oh and, in case you were wondering, le salaud means "the bastard" or "the son of a bitch". **

**Greetings from Colombia**


	6. Chapter 5

The house was not enormous or particularly glamorous, yet I found it beautiful. It was one of those houses that seem to be trapped between two of its identical twins. Nonetheless, that narrowness gave it a sort of elegance rather difficult to explain. It had long white framed windows in front of which several flower pots hung, and in them, yellow and violet pansies dozed under the sun without a care in the world. A small staircase connected the street with the huge wooden doors which were guarded by two stone lions, their snouts marked by countless rains.

I knocked under the gaze of the animals and waited in silence, hoping I had not gotten the address wrong. Slowly the door creaked and from the inside came a bald head, on which a huge brown stain could be seen. The bald man opened the door at a speed which made me believe that each one of his bones had to ask permission to the other before moving. His nose resembled a bird's beak and his eyebrows were so bushy they casted a shadow over his eyes, or maybe the illusion was only caused by the glare he gave me.

"I'm afraid you'll have to leave" That was all he said, but I prevented him from closing the door by putting my foot on the way.

"Wait, monsieur!" I interjected "I was hoping I could talk to monsieur Enjolras."

"You know monsieur Enjolras?" He raised one of his bushy eyebrows.

I nodded, he frowned and closed the door before I could stop him again. I knocked again, gulping down the curses that seem to pour out of my head, but no one opened. There was noise in the inside though, steps which got closer and after a moment the door reopened, this time the beak nosed man was accompanied by a woman.

This was the first time I saw Berthe Trépat. She was a lady in her early fifties who always, always, seemed to be heading late somewhere even if she rarely had any commitments. She wore her grey hair tied in a bun, well, tied is not accurate, for half of her hair was always free and falling over her shoulders, while the other half threatened to do the same. She often wore bright colored dresses (hence the violet dress) which contrasted with her pale skin, and her hands were long and skinny, like a pair of albino spiders.

Contrary to any prediction, she smiled when she saw me standing at her door.

"You" She pointed at me with her long white index "you are the young lady who brought my nephew here, am I right?"

She was clearly not expecting an answer, for she immediately brought me inside.

"Please, please come in, take a seat! Oh that night you left before I could thank you, but I do remember your face, I have the best memory for faces, I could still recognize any of my childhood friends if I saw any those old hags today, I tell you, but please sit down."

We walked into a small living room. I remember the furniture seemed to belong to the last century, but it was well taken care of, for the bright colored wood was not scraped and there were no patches on the yellow fabric on the sofa or the chairs. The walls had a light green shade which contrasted with a golden chimney on top of which a riffle was hung and here and there, on top of the tables and the desks, were little cat sculptures, some made in porcelain others in clay or wood, but there were no actual cats around.

"How rude of me! I have not introduced myself, my name is Berthe Trépat, and you dear must be-"

"Éponine" I smiled.

"Éponine, Éponine, É-po-ni-ne, I can remember any face, but when it comes to names I am a disaster, I am. You look quite better than the last time I saw you, dear, I-"

She stopped out of a sudden and turned her head to the right. I followed with my gaze and noticed she was looking at a short woman who was walking down the wooden stairs of the hall, carrying a silver tray in her hands.

"Excuse me-" Madame Trépat said, yet she did not stand up, but instead called the woman to the living room.

The woman promptly walked towards the living room, and paying no attention to me, she displayed the content of the tray to madame. I saw the plate on top was intact, not even the cutlery next to it seemed to have been touched.

"Nothing still" Madame sighed, looking at the cold food.

"No, madame." The short woman replied "He won't eat a single bite. You wouldn't mind hearing my thoughts on it?"

"Please go ahead."

"Well, when any of my sons get sick, all we have to do is feed them, forcedly of course, lots of tar water for a week. A little tar water and he'll be as good as new in no time, I give you my word."

"Thank you for your interest Amantine, but I fear I am not an enthusiast of tar water. I shall contact Martin and see if he can recommend me another physician. Oh but first, bring our guest some- what would you like, dear?"

It took me a moment to realize she was addressing me, the term guest seemed inappropriate somehow.

"Me? Oh, no, I'm fine."

"None sense! Amantine, bring her a cup of hot chocolate."

"We ran out of chocolate madame" The woman with the tray replied.

"Then bring her tea."

"I'm afraid we ran out of it too."

"Then what have we not run out of?"

"Tar water."

"Just bring her glass of _regular_ water."

"Right away." The woman nodded and left the room.

"I apologize, as you can see, we have had no time to go to the store lately. Things have been quite hectic around here lately. But you were telling me about yourself."

Was I?

"Oh well, I was just around the neighborhood and I thought I could stop by and see how Enjolras was."

"You're such a dear! He has had no visitors so far, but I believe it is better this way, discretion is much appreciated in this situation. But I fear he has not felt well lately, dear, he barely speaks and has not eaten much. Do you mind if I ask, have you nightmares?"

"Nightmares?" I asked, surprised by the sudden turn in the conversation "Well, actually, I _have_ had some, when I had the fever"

"Fever, yes. That is exactly why nephew suffers from, those nightmares refuse to let him be. That poor boy…but I think he will be very glad to see you, my dear. Are you two good friends?"

"To be honest…" To be honest I didn't know the man's first name "we were not _that_ close."

"I am still sure he will love to see you! Maybe you will be able to make him speak. Follow me, he is upstairs."

Without waiting for the maid, Amantine, to return with the glass of water, we went to second floor of the house.

As we walked up the stairs, I began to regret having come in the first place. In all honesty, I was probably the last person Enjolras would want to see. What was I even supposed to tell him?

* * *

The second floor seemed remarkably darker than the bottom one, maybe it was due to the dark purple tone of the walls or the red carpet that stretched down the entire corridor. A huge wooden clock was located at the top of the stairs and its ticking followed us as we walked down the corridor in silence. Madame Trépat pointed at one of the doors and whispered to me to wait a moment as she gently pushed the door. From the outside I heard madame announcing my visit, but there was no reply. Shortly, madame left the room and looked at me.

"Go in, go in, don't be shy, my dear." Madame Trépat smiled "If you need anything, I will be downstairs."

I nodded and watched her walk away in silence. I slowly stepped into the room. I couldn't help to feel like a child who has just been scolded and has come to apologize reluctantly. And in a way, if he was feeling as suffocated by life as I was, I did have some apologizing to do, considering it had been me who had snatched him away from death's embrace.

I can remember that room as if I was inside it now.

To begin with, the thick purple curtains were closed, so not a single ray of light dared to crawl inside. The place was only lighted by a candle on a little desk across the room, and a strange glow that came from the blocked windows. The walls had a light orange tone and were decorated with several framed uncolored sketches of birds. At the left there was a small wooden desk stacked with books and papers and a few porcelain figurines of cats. To the right, under a rather big wooden crucifix, was a bed of monstrous proportions and on it was Enjolras, with his forehead bandaged. His hair was shorter, probably cut so they could treat his wounds easily, and he looked remarkably small among the huge white pillows. Truth be told it looked like a comfortable bed.

No air came in or out, so I understood why he was not under the covers. It took me a moment to see, in that gloomy room, that half of his left leg was missing. They had cut it off from the knee down. And there he was, looking at the empty space before him, expressionless, vacant. I wasn't even sure he had noticed I had entered the room.

I stood there without knowing how to proceed. I bit my lips, played with my hands for a moment and finally forced myself to say something.

"I… well, I'm very sorry about your leg."

He did not hear me, and if he did there was nothing that indicated it. My first reaction was to leave the room, but I knew it was too soon to do so. I would stay a little longer, so at least I could say I really tried to talk to him before giving up. I clumsily walked around the room and stopped by the desk, I glanced at Enjolras as I ran a finger through one of the dusty figurines.

"Your aunt seems to like cats very much, huh?"

I glanced at Enjolras, but there was still no answer.

"She seems nice." I added, more to myself than to him. I glanced at the papers on the wooden surface, they were all cramped with numbers some of which were crossed over and some of which were a link a huge change of additions. It reminded me of Montfermeil, when we had the inn and there were actual numbers to keep track of the business. How distant did it seem now, who did those memories belonged to? Who did that life belonged to? It couldn't be me, for-

"If"

The word dragged me out my thoughts, I froze. Enjolras had spoken, he had spoken! I turned around with the same amazement I would have had if the bed or the table had been the ones to talk.

"If you have come to ask about Pontmercy," His voice was like a plain and monotonous grunt, and while he spoke he kept his eyes focused on the wall, never on me. " I cannot help you. My aunt has made sure no one speaks to me about anything related to that subject."

There was a long pause here before he continued.

"But maybe you know something, anything, about anyone."

I probably knew as much as he did, but I tried to remember whatever gossip I had heard the girls talk about in Lheureux's house.

"I heard Javert's dead."

Finally, he focused his blue eyes on me.

"How so?"

"Went for a dive in the Seine. Some say he was pushed, others say it was suicide."

"Anything else? Any survivors?"

"I haven't heard anything else, sorry."

He was silent and shifted his gaze back to the wall, but, much to my surprise, he spoke again.

"I need to know with certainty…" He mumbled "You, you can go out, could you find more information for me? I can pay you."

You can easily understand how off guard his offer caught me. Only a minute ago he was completely indifferent to my presence and now he was offering me a deal. But the offer seemed to fit my needs perfectly, if I asked for lodging instead of payment I could stay away from Lheureux, for he would never find me in a house like that.

"I'll do it gladly, monsieur, but instead of money, may I ask you to let me stay here for some time?"

"Here?" He raised his eyebrows still not looking at me.

"Just for a while. Of course I'll talk to your aunt as well, and I'll make sure to make myself useful around the house."

"Alright."

"Alright?" I was unable to hide my surprise.

"We have a deal." It still amazed me how plain his voice was every time he talked, regardless of the words leaving his lips.

"So it seems" I smiled, and set myself to the task of finding madame Trépat.

* * *

**I'm back after a great Spring Break, although I'm a bit sad because Gabriel García Márquez died four days ago, and he was one of my favorite writers :( **

**Anyway, special thanks to Midnightstar-and-Echosong, Freedom909, ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo, Alex-samsprout, Break This Spell666 and a guest for your reviews and comments. I actually had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I really hope you enjoy it! **

**Oh and the name Berthe Trépat comes from the wonderful book I'm reading right now: "Rayuela" (I think it's called Hopscotch in english) by Cortázar, maybe you have read it? And the tar water is a little reference to Dickens' Great Expectations**

**As always any comments are welcomed!**

**Greetings from Colombia**


	7. Chapter 6

If you have ever seen a little girl's face when she's given that doll she has longed for so long, then you can understand how madame Trépat smiled when I told her. She even begged me to excuse her for a moment, during which she left me alone in the living room, and walked, almost ran into the kitchen, only to return dragging the maid along with her.

"Go on, dear, tell Amantine! Tell her what you just told me!" Madame said eagerly, but before I could open my mouth she continued "He talked to her, Amantine. Alexandré talked to her! And more than a few words, there were sentences for crying out loud! Blessed be the Lord! Now, my dear, tell me again, please, tell me what he said!"

"He said the weather was rather nice, madame." I replied "He asked me if I thought it would rain soon."

"And what did you say?" Madame leaned forward as if my answer was a matter of life and death.

"I said I did."

"She said she did! Oh Amantine, are you listening to this?"

"It's wonderful, madame," Amantine said, yet her eyes expressed quite the opposite thought, then she added, looking at me "It sounds almost too good to be true."

"Too good indeed!" Madame exclaimed "Oh dear, he must be starting to recover! Eloise dear, you must come more often, oftener than often, as often as you can!"

"Éponine" I corrected shyly "Of course I would love to come often, but I fear I'll be a little busy, looking for an opening in a factory and a decent room I can rent. But as soon as I can, I'll return, of course it could be months before I'm settled…"

"That is surely a predicament. But priorities are priorities…" Madame rubbed her pale chin and was silent for a moment during which I hoped she had understood what I was heading to.

"Well if that's the case, you better start looking now, huh?" Amantine intervened and I couldn't help to direct a nasty look in her direction, honestly it was beyond me.

"Wait!" Madame clasped her hands and her face brightened again "What if, I know this might sound a little crazy, but what if you worked here?"

"Work here?" Amantine echoed, raising her eyebrows.

"You could even stay here! I mean your presence is clearly good for my nephew." Madame continued "Of course, I will have to ask Phillipe first, you must understand I do not want to make any arrangements that might discomfort him, but if he talked to you I know he will be as excited as I am."

"But madame," Amantine whispered, which made little sense considering I was standing right in front of her "there's no room in the house".

"We'll make room! I shall settle her in your room, after all you are always complaining about how lonely it is."

"With all due respect madame, I complain about how _small _it is."

"Same thing!" Madame Trépat said "Now please fetch some blankets and pillows, we'll improvise something for the night. Now, I must talk to my nephew right away," She headed towards the stairs but stopped in the middle "But first, I must write to the doctor, yes I must write to the doctor, and tell him all about this!"

She redirected her steps and left to another room across the hall, leaving me all alone in the middle of that cat filled living room.

My first errand was to deliver said note, along with a letter addressed to monsieur et madame Enjolras, in Rouen. The doctor's house was relatively close in walking distance, and the post was on the way there, nonetheless, madame's unclear directions made the trip take longer than it should have been. Besides being forced to go over my steps and stopping now and then to look at the numbers on the houses, I was also slowed by my own anxiety, for I couldn't help feeling Lheureux could be waiting for me around any corner. Even if I knew he would not find me in a neighborhood like that, I found myself looking over my shoulder more than once.

Even so, on my way back to house, my anxiety began to subside, for I was distracted by the people around me. For the first time since the barricade, I took a moment to look at them, and I mean to _look _at them. I marveled at the everydayness of their lives. Walking past me, going somewhere, and they all seemed to have somewhere to go and reasons to do so, such determination in their steps, such indifference in their eyes. Did they have any idea of the gift they had been endowed with? No, only someone whose steps are empty and meaningless could understand.

Something had, without a doubt, changed that dreadful night in the barricade, something had ended, something was broken, and yet here they were, the people of Paris, off to buy a loaf of bread or a dozen of eggs, off to pay their taxes or visit a friend. Life went on. How quickly did the city forget...Did _he _forget? Did he forget...

Oh Marius…

I returned to madame Trépat's house before memories could start dripping down my eyes. She took me to my new room, a small chamber accessible only through a wooden door in the kitchen. It was no wonder Amantine had complained about the size, there was barely any room for one's own thoughts in there. Inside the narrow space, which I doubt had been deliberately made to be a bedroom, were two beds, or more appropriately, a bed and a mattress on the floor with some blankets over it. Madame apologized for the quality of it and promised she would get a better one, yet I didn't hesitate to tell her I had slept in far worse places.

"Please, make sure she eats something" Madame added, addressing Amantine as we left the room and stepped into the kitchen, waiting to hear further instructions.

"Yes, madame" Amanitne replied.

"I'll watch my nephew, and tonight-"

"Tonight, madame, you should get some rest."

"Not a bad idea, not a bad idea at all. To be honest I am quite tired." Madame let out a yawn and then looked at me "Now Em-Emi-El-Ep"

"Éponine" I helped her out.

"Dear, let Amantine show you around the house and answer whatever questions you have. If either of you need me, I will be upstairs."

I nodded, and watched her as she walked out of the room. Amantine only spoke when madame was completely out of sight. Now, I would be lying if I said that, despite her short stature, her frown and her cold gaze were not a bit daunting.

"Well, well, well, little rascal, I don't know what you're up to, but I'll be keeping an eye on you."

"I'm not up to anything," She looked at my eyes and I looked back at hers without flinching, I knew that game and I could keep on playing. "I don't want any trouble."

"For your own good, I hope that's true" She then turned and walked towards the old stove. "Now, you see this?"

I nodded, of course I did, it was right there.

"This is off limits. Do you understand? I'm the one in charge of cooking, I might ask you once or twice to help me with something, but otherwise all you do in the kitchen is wash. The silver you don't touch, it's off limits, understood?"

"Alright." I answered as we walked down the kitchen and went through a back door. At the other side there was a patio which resembled a garden, for it was full of every thinkable variety of flowers. Daisies and pansies and lilies to the left, sunflowers and roses and daffodils to the right, and in the center a small space had been left to dry clothes on a rope. Amantine briefly instructed me how to take care of some of the flowers, not all of them, for she made very clear that pansies and roses were off limits. When we walked inside, she led to the far end of the kitchen and pointed at a small set of stairs.

"You can go down to the cellar and clean but don't you dare to touch the wine bottles, they're off limits. You may also go to the third floor, but never into madame's room, that's-"

"-off limits?"

" I'm the only who enters, understood?"

"Understood." I said as we moved out of the kitchen.

"You'll be doing the cleaning and the laundry," She explained as we walked across the hall into a new room. This was the study. A broad room whose pink walls were almost covered completely by wooden shelves stacked with all sorts of books. In the center there was a wooden desk with papers held down by a white sculpture of a cat licking its paw, and on the far end, next to a huge window pane, there was a table with a beautiful chess board and two blue chairs set there for the players.

"You'll be cleaning the shelves, but the books are off limits. The chess is off limits. Refrain from touching anything valuable and whatever you do, don't break any of the sculptures. You can look later at the dining room and the upper floors, but if you try anything funny, I'll notice. Any questions?"

"Where's the bald man who opened the door?"

"You mean Landry? He's the valet, he's around, somewhere." She explained as we walked back into the kitchen "But you have to understand he's not as young as he used to, so he doesn't do a lot of work around here."

"What does he do besides opening the door?"

"Well he…well…not much more"

"Sounds nice."

"He has earned it, he's a war veteran." She said this last remark as if I had wronged her by bringing up the subject. "Anyway, sit here, I'll get you something to eat."

So I did. I waited until she handed me a plate. If it had been a crown, I would not have hold on to it as hard as I did. I was pleasantly surprised by the portions of fish and vegetables, and the quality! Oh, how long since I had tried anything like it! A lightning bolt would have taken longer traveling from the clouds to the ground than what I took eating all. I couldn't help to scrape the dish with the fork as I tried to pick up every last bit, and the gulping was so loud that Amantine even looked up as she folded some sheets to say "It's not gonna vanish, you know?" But, by my own experience, I knew it would vanish, it would vanish in the blink of an eye. Hell, the amazing thing would be if it didn't vanish!

So on and so forth, the day began to die away slowly and calmly, but I should have known this was only the peaceful breeze that announces the storm that's bound to come.

For the nights, they were a different story.

* * *

It must have started at ten o'clock. No, earlier, because I remember that, by the time the clock was striking ten, the bells were half drowned by Amantine's shouts. From the second floor she kept telling me to hurry with that bucket of water, but it never occurred to her to tell me where the bloody bucket was! I was relatively new to the house, so finding it was unnecessarily difficult. After leaving the kitchen upside down, deed for which I would pay the following morning, I found a wooden bucket, filled it and ran upstairs trying not to spill the water.

When I stepped into the room, Enjolras was bathed in sweat and shacking violently under the covers of the enormous bed. He was pale as a ghost.

"What do we do! What do we do!" I exclaimed.

"Calm down" Amantine replied, she was seated on the edge of the bed and leaning towards him as she slowly and gently removed the bandages in his forehead. I left the bucket next to her and watched at the unmasked gash which was far from scarring.

"Sit over there" The maid pointed at the opposite edge "and grab his wrist, count the beats."

His arm was frail and I almost let him go once I touched his ice cold skin. I pressed my fingers against his wrist and focused on counting the seconds between his hurried heart beat.

"Keep counting" Amantine instructed as she soaked a cloth on the water. She dripped it and slowly placed it over his forehead. He let out a grunt, I saw the tiny water rivulets drip down his forehead and next to his nose as I tried to track his heartbeat.

By the third time she repeated the procedure, his heartbeat began to steady, but it took an entire a hour of the same for his trembling to stop. If I hadn't been tracking his pulse, I would have sworn his sudden calmness was the product of death. By this point, Amantine told me I could go to sleep, for she could watch him by herself.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Go, you'll need the rest, tomorrow you'll be watching over him." She said, too exhausted to add any of her rather bitter remarks.

As if it was made out of porcelain like one of madame's cat figurines, I slowly left Enjolras's arm back on the bed and prepared to walk away. From the door I watched him one last time, his eyes were closed and he was drifting away to the land of sleep, or less romantically, the land of unconsciousness, of surrender or defeat.

There were two types of nights in the house. There were bad nights and worse nights. That was a bad one.

* * *

**I know it's slower than the other chapters, but I want to focus on the interactions between characters. **

**Special thanks to butterfly52, ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo, a guest, Midnightstar-and-Echosong, Freedom909, Alex-samsprout, Break This Spell666, moonlightsouls, WhoNeedsWorldPeaceI'veGotFood, alwaysaliceinwonderland and ShipBlownFromItsMooring for their support, and thanks too for the ones who helped me find a name for Enjolras!**

**Comments, questions, critiques, ideas, are all very welcomed!**

**Greetings from Colombia**


	8. Chapter 7

And in the morning there was no trace of the events from the night before. Well not trace besides the dark rims under Amantine's eyes and the discarded bucket which I found empty on the kitchen floor.

"You better start getting used to this if you pretend to stay." Amantine said behind the stove, watching over a boiling pot.

"He gets like this every night?" I asked, taking out a set of dishes like she had ordered me to do previously.

"Almost every night."

"And what does the doctor think?"

"It's the fever, comes at night. It's supposed to get better with time though."

When the breakfast was done, I personally volunteered to deliver it to Enjolras, virtually out of curiosity, or rather, to verify with my own eyes that he was still alive. Yesterday, even if vacant, he had been quite lucid during our conversation, so it amazed me how quickly the fever seemed to take over him and consequently free him. I carried the tray carefully. Ignoring the growls that my stomach had started emitting since the smell had filled the kitchen, I walked towards the exit. Nonetheless, I didn't make it past the door.

"Here you are, dear!"

I almost crashed into madame Trépat who appeared out of nowhere on the entrance of the kitchen. I said good morning trying not to get distracted by her orange dress.

"How was the night?" Madame asked "I suppose it was a long one, else my nephew would not be still asleep. Poor boy…but I know he is improving, I know he will be back soon…soon… Anyway, dear, I must ask you to run to the store and get some items, I suppose it must be open by now."

She smiled and handed me a little piece of paper she had clasped in her hand, along with some crumpled bills.

"Do you know how to read dear?"

"Only the basic, madame" I replied, grabbing the paper and the money.

"That will suffice! If you have any problem with a word, the clerks will help you, oh an you may keep the change, if there's any." She smiled and walked away before I could thank her or ask her about the way to the store. I asked Amantine, which in the end was a lot better, for I had no problem finding the place following her directions. The problem? The store was closed. As I waited for it to open, I took the opportunity to walk around the streets nearby, listening to any conversations that could relate to the information Enjolras wanted to know, and a bit of information I wanted to know myself, concerning the other only known survivor. But it was in vain, the subject had been put away like an old book and now it pilled dust in the minds of the Parisians. If I wanted any information, I would have to ask directly. Before doing the groceries I took a little detour towards the university.

"Pardon, excusez-moi, I'm looking for monsieur Courfeyrac, I have a letter for him" I began with the first name that came to my mind, and approached a young man who looked like a student "do you know where I could find him?"

He didn't know, and neither did the next man I asked. The third man I asked, told me I was looking for a dead man. The fourth was a dead end but fifth added, when I asked if there were any friends of his that I could look for, that they were all gone. Gone. I tried with all the names that came to my mind, I persisted until I started receiving glares and wary looks, but the answer was always the same. Over and over.

Gone.

I had the walk to the store and the walk back home to figure out how to tell this to Enjolras. But words, at the time, were far from my specialty, let alone for a task such as this. Are there even words that can subdue the impact? Are there truly any words that can relieve the pain?

With a long sigh, I entered through the patio and used the door that lead into the kitchen. Amantine was not around so I set up to the task of stowing the groceries myself. I had no notice before, probably because there had not been a chance for me to notice, how thin the walls were. Without any effort I found myself, as I saved a loaf of bread in the cabinet, listening to a conversation coming from the living room.

"But, monsieur, are you absolutely sure that he is ready?" It took a moment for me to be certain, but it sounded like madame Trépat's voice.

"He is weak" A male voice replied "But soon he must start. As long as he is accompanied and using the crutches, he should be alright. Of course he should not be leaving the house or anything of that sort, but a small stroll, on this very room for instance, should do him good."

"Alright, monsieur. Oh and there is another thing I wanted to discuss before you go monsieur, last time you mentioned something about a…well…a…"

"A wooden prosthesis?"

"Precisely!"

"Let's have him practice with the crutches before taking that step, shall we? For now, make sure he's eating well and drinking a lot of water. The fever…?"

"As bad as always, monsieur, I fear. At mornings, well you saw him, he looks almost well, but the nights, monsieur, the nights!"

"It's understandable, madame, I'll come back with some calomel tomorrow. Now, would you care to tell me about the nights some more…"

As the madame began an endless monologue, sparing no details, I walked towards the stairs making sure to make no sound at all. Only when I had reached the top of the stairs and found myself in front of the huge wooden clock, I glanced at the living room. I looked quickly at the mysterious man, who had a bushy white beard and who would constantly keep looking down at floor were a black leather bag rested. It was easy to assume that he was the doctor.

I walked towards Enjolras's room, for I figured it would be better to tell him right away. After all, madame had said he was "almost well", which meant that, if there was ever a moment to tell him, this was it.

I found the door opened, but knocked anyway. As I expected, there was no answer and I simply pushed the door gently.

The room was just like the day before, and not a single ray of the midday sun seemed to escape from the heavy curtains. Enjolras, in the bed, was looking intensely at something on his right side. Stepping slightly closer I managed to see it was a pair of wooden crutches. There was something different in his eyes. What, what was that hidden behind his blue irises? Could it be a trace of emotion? A speck of…sorrow? Or was it just the mark of deep thoughts no mortal ears would ever hear? Whatever it was in those eyes, it made me stop and forget completely about my purpose. No, I could not tell him now.

I retraced my steps, but I didn't make it to the door before he turned around to look at me. And at first there were not words, not from him and not from me. The silence pressing down my lungs as if one of the curtains had fell over my chest, I'd have to break it.

"Good morning, well, more like afternoon" I said, noticing that my palms were sweating. "Are you feeling better?"

"Arguably." He replied, his voice as calmed as always if not more than before. "I heard Amantine say you were at the store, well, rather, complaining about how long you were taking."

"Just buying some things" I said, while trying to think of an excuse to leave before he could ask more.

"Did you hear anything?"

"No, monsieur, not yet, I'm sorry."

"You did take long, I'm sure you must have returned with something more than eggs."

"I did ask around monsieur" I glanced at the crucifix above his head, in an attempt to flee from his gaze "But no one could give me information."

"Please, Éponine, if you know anything, you can tell me. You _must_ tell me."

Had I been that obvious? I looked at him, my hands were still sweating and my heart was racing, but he looked perfectly calmed, prepared. And so I decided to tell him once and for all what, in the end, was only the conformation of what he, as much as I, already knew.

"Monsieur, they're gone" And then I added quickly "But maybe, maybe some are hiding, it wouldn't be crazy, I can ask more, I can look further."

But he was silent, not looking at me but through me. He stood perfectly still, so much that for a moment I believed he had stopped breathing. The ticking of the clock seemed to be the only proof that time had not stopped. He looked pale but I couldn't quite tell if he was already so ghostly when I entered or if the news had drained the color off his cheeks. I bit my lips, as if to scold them for what they had done, and I brazed myself for a storm, an explosion, a burst of anything. But there was nothing, which was far more unsettling. I tried, I desperately tried to look for any words to add, as I tried to figure out if I should leave him alone or stay awkwardly standing there and then, to my own relief, he spoke.

"Could you-" His voice came out as a whisper and he was forced to clear his throat before continuing "could you open the curtains? It-it's so dark."

I was startled by the petition but I didn't think twice before going across the room to do so. As I opened the heavy purple drapes and the sunlight hit the room violently, he spoke again.

"And c-could you please bring me a glass of-of water?"

What filled me with angst was the lack of emotion in his voice. If it was true that it broke a little, there was no fury, or surprise, or angst in it. I nodded and rushed downstairs as I repeated over and over a million other things that I could have told him instead of the truth. How easily I could have insisted on saying I found no information!

In the kitchen it surprised me to find out that my own hands were unsteady as I poured the water. I could have said no one had replied to me, that no one wanted to talk about the subject, that soldiers were close by and asking would have been suspicious, I could have just left the room.

And then, the sound.

The house seemed to freeze, the ticking off the clock, the voices of the living room, all silenced by the shattered glass. I looked down at my own hands, but no, I had not dropped the cup.

The crashing sound had come from the second floor.

* * *

**I know I have not uploaded in a long time and on top of that this is one short chapter, so I'm sorry! **

**Anyway, special thanks to Break This Spell666, Midnightstar-and-Echosong, Freedom909, ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo, Alex-samsprout, pastamarinara, Ella-Starstruck, ShipBlownFromItsMooring abd dizzipidi for all their support! You guys are awesome, really! **

**I'll try to make the next chapter longer, promise.**

**As always, comments, questions, suggestions, complaints, are all very very welcomed.**

**Greetings from Colombia **


	9. Chapter 8

And his blue eyes, the blue eyes of a caged animal, of a lion before turning around and devouring his trainer in front of an audience, were locked on the window, or whatever was left of it. He was standing firmly, supported on his crutches, on top of the broken glass. He panted, but I could see such determination in him, a determination that I myself had felt during the previous days, that I'm sure that if the doctor had not rushed upstairs in time to grab him by the shoulders, he would have thrown himself out of the window.

But the doctor held him tightly now, no matter how much he struggled. And he did put up a fight.

"Let me go! Let me go! LET ME GO" Enjolras demanded, his blond hair falling all over his face and bandages. "LET ME GO, I TELL YOU"

He shook violently, freeing himself from the doctor's grasp and losing his balance. Madame and I rushed to his side, but it was the doctor who, once more, caught him before he could fall.

"Bring me my bag!" He commanded, holding on to Enjolras.

I rushed downstairs and went straight to the living room. I picked up the black bag as Amantine asked me what had happened. I was already back upstairs when I realized I had not answered her. But it did not matter, not now.

After delivering the bag, I waited outside passing to and fro as I heard thuds and voices raising form the inside of the room I shouldn't have told him, I shouldn't have, shouldn't have, shouldn't have! But he looked so calmed, I really thought…of course this was bound to happen! It was a tragedy waiting to happen.

Slowly the noise faded and I stepped inside to realize Enjolras had fallen into a state of drowsiness, accountable only to the white bearded man who panted on the corner.

When Enjolras was subdued, fainted, asleep, or whatever term the doctor used, I was told to watch for him for a moment. I took a sit in front of the bed, as I watched him sleep. I rubbed my temples as the voices from the corridor crawled into the room.

"But doctor, you saw him, I do not, _I cannot,_ understand what happened. You saw him, he was well, he was-"

"Madame, I assure you, this is normal. He went through a traumatic experience and a difficult operation, of course his body and his mind are exhausted and on edge."

"I just don't understand" Madame's voice lingered as I heard their footsteps disappear.

Of course she didn't understand. I considered rushing towards them and telling them what had happened, the cause of it, but I couldn't risk to leave Enjolras alone at the moment, if he did wake up for some reason, he would surely try again and probably succeed this time.

Soon after, madame Trépat and Amantine reentered the room.

"Dear dear, hide those things" Madame said pointing at the crutches that were back against the bed. I stood up and picked them.

"Where, madame?"

"Upstairs, downstairs, I don't know, just take them away" Madame said "At least he used them instead of his hand, I do not even want to imagine the cuts he could- I don't even want to think about it..."

I heard madame sigh deeply as I left the room.

* * *

For two days he was silent. Not a word to madame, not a word to Amantine, not a word to me. Two days in which the air felt heavy and the house darker. Madame brought him a pile of books upstairs, hoping that least one of those would call his attention, but I didn't see him open any of them. Actually, he did nothing but stare blankly at that wall, in silent reflection.

I did apologize, this sudden step back was indeed my fault, but he did not seem to hear. What good was to apologize anyway, what had been said had been said and what had been done had been done, he would have found sooner or later, and even if I had not told him, the truth would have still been the truth. Amen.

And speaking of Amen, madame did go around the house looking for Amantine and me, once in the morning, once in the afternoon, so the three of us could pray together. During those two days, though, I did manage to hide from madame or pretend I was doing such an important task that I could not, not for anything in the world, stop. Amantine on the other hand, did join her fervently. I would have joined them, you see, if I had found a way to believe, like they did, that it would help Enjolras cope with life in any way. But I could not.

What I could do, though, was to watch over him in case he tried to throw himself out the window again. He did not. Thankfully, he was either too exhausted or too absorbed in his thoughts to try again. And only in the noon of the third day, he showed any life signals.

The clock struck four, and I knew madame would soon be looking for me for the daily prayer, god forbid she'd find me available. So, I went upstairs and knocked on Enjolras door. Amantine, who had been watching over him under the excuse of cleaning the room ended her shift and I said I could take over. She said goodbye to Enjolras who, had his bright blue eyes fixed on the wall, as he often had, and left the room. I walked slowly to the middle of the room and sat in front of the old desk. I grabbed a small porcelain sculpture of a black cat stretching and wiped it with my dress gently if only to keep myself busy.

"You don't have to watch over me." He said suddenly, almost making me drop the cat figurine. Wide eyed, I looked at him, unable to utter any words before he continued. "I understand now, Éponine."

"Understand what, monsieur?" I asked, leaving the sculpture back on the desk, fearing I would end up dropping it.

"This must be my punishment." He sentenced, eyes fixed on the wall. "If it's not, I cannot make any sense of it. How else can I explain that I, among everyone else, shall be here."

I was left speechless. I was definitely the worst person he could have chosen to drop such lines, for how could I give him any comfort, any answers, if he seemed to be mouthing thoughts I had had myself?

"Punishment?" I repeated clumsily.

"Divine punishment or call it what you please."

"Divine? Do you believe in God, monsieur?" Deviating from the subject could be my best, if not my only, weapon. I could not think of anything else to say.

He was silent for a moment before replying with a defeated air.

"I don't even know, I think I don't even care anymore." He turned to look at me. "Do you?"

"I do, but I believe He only looks down when he wants a laugh. A good one."

"You seem to understand Him better than any priest." He replied, if not entertained, he was at least engaged by the conversation.

"That's because no priest ever lived on them streets, do they? If you want to find God, spend a month in St Michel, you can almost hear him chuckle at nights. He's got a wicked sense of humor, I tell you, that's the only way I can explain _my_ life."

"But you're still here, still living."

"That's what it seems" I smiled "I guess, old habits die hard."

"The habit of living included?"

"Specially the habit of living."

And I remained silent. Yes, that was the only response I could come up with concerning the fact that I still lived all and all. To him life was punishment, to me a routine. How long would either definition last? That was a mystery. But for now I had the satisfaction of hearing him talk again, and that odd resignation with which he had addressed me was strangely relieving.

That night was the first night, I believe, in which I was to watch him all by myself. You see, his fever, though persistent, was nothing extraordinary. We all thought he was improving, none of us even thought for a second that this could only be the calm before the storm, for worse nights were on the horizon, but to those I shall arrive to on its due time.

That night on the other hand, aside from occasionally pressing wet cloths against his forehead, there was not much more that I could do. He shook, yes, but at least this was not a violent tremor like the one I had seen before. Now and then, though, he mumbled something I could not recognize. In that limbo between awareness and sleep, he whispered something over and over. Unsure of what to do, I patted him on the shoulder, either to wake him or, for the very least, to let him know that he was someplace safe, that he was alone. It was no use, though.

I looked around the candle lit room briefly, feeling strangely how the cat figurines' eyes seemed to settle on me as if waiting for me to do something. On the night stand besides the bed I noticed the small stack of books madame had placed there. I reached out and grabbed one of them, a red one, I remember whose title was written in huge golden letters. I read to him.

I know it sounds silly, but I could not think of much else that could give him any solace or at least distract him from whatever vision or whatever thought seemed to be torturing.

I stuttered a lot and mispronounced so many words that, if he had been in shape, he would have surely stopped me. The book was an anthology of short stories, which were simple enough for me to read and interesting enough to keep reading. By the middle of the first story, as his mumbles and whispers became slower and clearer, I finally understood what he was saying.

_Grantaire…Joly… Combeferre…Prouvaire…_

He was calling them, all of them. Pleading, begging them to take him away.

I kept reading to him until his whispers died out and his eyes closed. But in the silence of that dark room, I could still his voice calling…calling….

* * *

The thing was, and I thought about it as I walked down the street the following morning, that he was a good man. I had never paid a lot of attention to his speech, Marius's eyes were to blame for that, but I remembered he talked about the people, about the common people, he called us brothers. Monsiuer Enjolras's sin, I reflected after exiting the post where I had been sent to (and I was sent to quite often for madame Trépat and madame Enjolras were making arrangements to take Enjolras out of town), was to be a dreamer. To be a dreamer in the middle of a city where everyone waited for a mistake, so they could profit from the other's failures. I would know about that last part, my father was the master of making others' misery his business. He must have had a good harvest after the barricade. I could almost picture him, returning home, boasting as he takes out a handful of golden teeth and puts them on the dinner table. And meanwhile, almost at the same time, a mother wonders about her son's corpse.

Yes, monsieur Enjolras had dreamt about a better world, but he had failed to understand the world he already lived in. He didn't know the people like I did, he had made the mistake of giving them courage and selflessness. As if someone could have that on the city where dog eats dog, as a matter of fact, the only ones who had had courage and selflessness had paid for it with their lives. Monsieur Enjolras had dreamt of a better world, but dreams…they don't stop bullets. Dreams don't feed the people, and dreams, most definitely, can't wrap you up at nights and whisper "I love you".

When I came to that conclusion and memories came rushing to torment me, I noticed I had wandered away into the streets aimlessly, still carrying the letter from the post. Once more, I found myself walking around the streets all alone. Old habits indeed die hard. But now that I had taken a small detour, I figured I could take a moment to listen and look around, in case that, maybe, just maybe, I could find some information about Marius's whereabouts.

I walked around the neighborhood with no luck, ignoring the penetrating smell of urine and the occasional beggars that did not come close time, knowing perhaps, that I had once been one of them. I was about to give up and walk back home, when I walked past a construction site where the workers talked loudly. Nothing caught my attention at first but a few steps later, a heard it.

No… could it-Had I heard correctly?

I retraced my steps, and trying to go unseen, I listened around the corner, my heart beating faster as their voices rose.

"He asked _you_ for money? You?"

"Yeah"

"Why? Doesn't Lheureux know you're a poor bastard?"

There! He had said it again! This time I heard it clearly. He said it, _Lheureux,_ but could it be the same man?

"The man's screwed, idiot." The other man replied.

"Screwed? Impossible, that's one bastard who knows what he's doin', one of the best in the business."

"Yes, but that was before."

"Before what?"

"Before" The man stopped talking and I feared he had seen me and recognized me somehow and was going to send me to Lheureux right away and and and...he just stopped to spit on the ground. When he was done he resumed, and I could breathe again.

"Before one of his whores messed with the wrong guy. A big-name-pig I don't know the details but I know the man was not happy at all. He's doing whatever he can do to take Lheureux out."

"Out? Out of business?"

"And throw his ass in jail if gets a chance."

"That barbeau is in some real trouble now, huh? But maybe he had it coming, if he can't even handle his whores no more, he probably shouldn't be in the business anyway."

I didn't have to hear anything else.

I didn't walk back to the house, I ran, as if the devil was chasing me.

* * *

**Could it possibly be...the plot!? Dun DUN DUN**

**Just kidding, but it feels nice to have some action back. **

**Special thanks to YouAreMyRevolution, Ella-Starstruck, Break This Spell666, Alex-samsprout, Midnightstar-and-Echosong and HiSaGa for their support!**

**All sorts of comments are very welcomed and encouraged as always.**

**And barbeau is argot for pimp.**

**Greetings from Colombia**


	10. Chapter 9

His trademark slap was made using the back of his hand, I still remembered the marks his ring left on the girls. But that was nothing compared to the other stories I had heard. At that time, oh how long it seemed now, at that time they seemed like ghost stories, fables, legends. Yes, legends told with such a bountiful amount of gory details that they could only be fake, crafted to scare the new girls. Only now did they seem to make any sense. True or not, it didn't matter. I had seen what the man could do to a girl, I had seen Scarlet mend the bruises left on the girl who disobeyed him, and now I could only imagine what he would do to me if he got the chance. At least the girls were merchandise to Lheureux, which meant they had to be in conditions to work. Me? He could do whatever he wanted with me.

"Hey!" Amantine's voice brought me back to the kitchen brusquely.

"What are you waiting for?" the woman said, the stack of sheets in her arms prevented me from seeing her face, but by her tone I could tell she was frowning "Madame's been calling for you, hurry up, c´mon, go to, go to!"

I went to, and upstairs, at the very top of the stairs I ran into madame Trépat, who stood in front of the clock, smiling.

"Oh there you are, dear Eloise."

"Éponine," I smiled and handed her the letter, whose existence I had nearly forgotten.

"Oh thank you dear!" She replied taking the letter and opening it right away, postponing whatever she was about to tell me for after the reading. She read it quickly, I waited awkwardly, watching her eyes rush from one side to the other at great speed.

"Well! These are good news, aren't they dear?"

"I, well, I suppose so, madame."

"My sister's says she'll not only take Alexandre away, but that she'll come to visit him herself before the journey. She's making the arrangements and will come as soon as the doctor says he's ready to travel. I think he'll like to see here, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course, madame."

"Great news, yes." She smiled and there was a pause in which she stared at me in silence until she seemed to remember what she had summoned me for.

"Oh yes, dear! I was wondering where did you leave the crutches?"

"The crutches, madame?" I repeated, surprised by the change of feelings she seemed to have towards the wooden instruments.

"Yes, my nephew wants to try them."

"Well…that's good I guess. They're upstairs, I'll bring them down in a moment."

"Oh don't worry I'll bring them down myself, would you check on Alexandre while I go?"

"Are you sure madame you don't want me to fetch them?"

"No, it's alright, I'll be back in a second, and I might need your help now, so just wait for me in his room."

"Alright madame, as you please." I nodded and walked down the corridor as she went upstairs.

The first thing I did as I stepped into the room was to check whether the drapes were closed or not. Open drapes and crutches, I had learned from the previous experience, were not a good match. Luckily, the room was dark as a cave, as the huge purple drapes covered the windows.

Surprisingly, Enjolras turned to look at me as I stepped in. I mean, he _turned_, he moved his head in my direction. Even if he did not say anything to me, this felt like a small victory of a kind.

"Hello, monsieur." I said slowly "I heard you want to try the crutches again."

"That is correct." He said with his monotonous tone. It felt awfully strange to see his blue eyes as he spoke to me.

"Don't take this the wrong way, monsieur, but" I replied, fixing my eyes on his "are you up to something?"

"Mademoiselle, I can assure I'm not up to anything. It just happens that I'm tired of relying on others to walk to the lavatory, that's all."

"Alright, seems fair" I smiled "But I hope you don't mind if I leave the drapes closed anyway."

"Here they are!" Madame chanted as she entered the room carrying the wooden instruments, one in each hand and raising them, in a pose which resembled the crucifix above the bed. "Are you sure, you are ready, dear?"

"I am." Enjolras replied and moved towards the edge of the bed, where he sat as madame handed him the crutches.

"It's alright if takes you a moment to find your balance." She said, watching him lean on the crutches before standing up.

He was a one legged man now, and I hadn't really seen it before. I had seen it, but only now that one leg stood straight mourning silently its twin, did it seem to make any sense or matter at all. I think Enjolras felt it too, for he frowned suddenly as he looked down at his feet. A dark shade seemed to cover his eyes which grew apparently colder with each firm and heavy step he took. We watched him walk in silence, for he seemed to be doing well without our help. He walked around slowly, but without losing his balance or slipping once. He was strong like an ox, I could see the muscles in his arms tightening as he held the crutches firmly, with a certain tacit hatred.

But that was nothing, the following day he did not only left the room, but he also, helped by madame and me, walked down stairs and into the study. He was grunting with each step when we entered the pink walled room and droplets of sweat ran slowly down his forehead, caught in his bandages. Nonetheless, he would not let either of us help him if it wasn't truly necessary to keep him from falling. More than using the crutches, he seemed to walk in spite them, as if a war was being waged between him and the wooden instruments, each step was a battle. Finally, he reached for one of the books in the shelves and sat behind the wooden desk. We gave him some space, I volunteered to clean the entire house by myself, by that point I would do anything to stay away from the streets, at least until I figured out how to handle the Lheureux situation.

As I walked through the kitchen's back door, I thought about Lheureux and wondered if there was any chance he would give up looking for me. It wouldn't be so crazy, I thought as I went downstairs to the cellar, not crazy at all. Wasn't I in a terrible shape when I left his place? What were the odds a severely wounded gamine had survived by herself in the streets all this time? And if she had, how come she had not been seen around? Yes, Lheureux had every reason to believe I was dead, for I would probably be if chance had not brought me to Enjolras's neighboring bed after the barricade.

Unless, I wondered dusting off the old cellar and regretting I had not brought down a candle (the only light came from the entrance), unless someone had seen me. If I had been indeed spotted and recognized…news traveled like a plague in the city and I would have to watch my back. Only one thing was certain, I glanced at the table in center of the room as if it were the witness of a great revelation, the only way to be truly safe was to leave Paris.

With the rest of the house_ relatively_ clean, it was a big house, believe me, and houses tend to triple their size when you intend to clean them, I moved to the study by noon. When I stepped into the room, I noticed the book Enjolras had picked this morning was closed and sleeping on top of the desk while his reader was sitting on one of the blue chairs in front of the chess board.

"Hello monsieur," I said, getting ready to face the dust tempest that would rise from the shelves. "Did you finish the book?"

But instead of replying or even looking at me, he kept staring at the board intensely. I moved on then and began to clean the shelves, when he spoke.

"Have you ever played chess, mademoiselle?"

Why did he insist in calling me "mademoiselle"?

"Never monsieur" I replied, without pausing.

"Would you like to learn? My aunt is busy and I'm in need of an opponent."

"Well, I'm afraid I won't be any good, monsieur, but I can try." I smiled, taking a place in front of him. It was such a bizarre offering that I couldn't refuse, plus, a break from all the cleaning wouldn't hurt me.

He explained to me the objective of the game. He grabbed piece by piece and showed me how each moved, _the pawn moves this way and eats this way, the queen can go in all directions except like the horse, and this is the rook_, and I believe I had never hear him talk so much after the barricade, so I didn't dare to interrupt him even if I had so many questions about the game. More than an opponent, I was his student, for when we finally began playing (after a long explanation during which I had to assimilate the idea of the king being uneatable) he would sometimes undo my moves and tell me to move again before he continued. I really couldn't care less about the game, but to see him actually interested on something was priceless, so much that not even Amantine could deem that afternoon as a waste of time, even if I didn't finish my chores.

Indeed, everything was going well, until that one movement.

"You marched this one to its death." He remarked taking my white pawn in his hand.

"Well at least it's a pawn."

"A good player does not march _any _piece to its death." Even if we both smiled momentarily, I saw, as tried to think of my next move, how his expression began to change. The smile faded, the eyes slowly getting darker. "A good leader does not lead anyone to its death either…"

By the time he added the last remark he was looking at the wall behind me. I stopped trying to remember how the tower moved, and focused my eyes on his.

"Monsieur, I hope you know you're not a bad man." I said slowly. "I know about bad men, and I give you my word, monsieur, for whatever it's worth, you're not one of them."

"Not one of them? Mademoiselle, I-"

"You" I interrupted him, making him focus his eyes on me "are naïve, but not bad. You just did something crazy out of love, love for the people and love for your country, and believe me, I know about doing crazy things out of love. "

"Your folly saved a life, mine ended so many! I marched them into their deaths, Éponine, I put them in front of the bullets, might as well have pulled the trigger! Joly, Lesgle, Grantaire, Pontmercy, Gavroche, even you in a way, I put you all in front of the bullets!"

"With all due respect, monsieur, you didn't put me in front of a bullet," I said rather firmly "_I_ put myself in front of a bullet. And I would've done it again because it meant something to me. I can't speak for all, but I do think that it meant something to them too. They died for something, something perhaps greater than themselves. You gave them meaning, and that's something most don't find in a life. They believed in something."

"They believed in me, and I failed them. Nothing changed, mademoiselle, nothing, absolutely nothing! Where is the change? Where is the hope? I couldn't even die like they did!"

"If you couldn't die for them, the least you can do now is live for them, monsieur. Live to carry their memory and maybe one day you may find the spark of love for the people again, the spark of change, of hope. Maybe one day…it will all make sense and you'll find a way to make it up to them, if that's what you feel you must do."

We were both quiet then, breathing heavily and only now realizing, in the silence, how loud had we been speaking. I cleared my throat and making sure to use a regular tone of voice I added.

"Now, how does the tower move, again?"

"Sideways, mademoiselle,"

"Thank you." I replied, moving the piece.

"No, thank you."

* * *

**I'd be lying if I said I didn't have fun writing this chapter...**

**Special thanks to ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo, Freedom909, Midnightstar-and-Echosong, Break This Spell666, butterfly52, Alex-samsprout, snowflakeswift, illa95 and rocnation for their support!**

**Comments of all sorts are very welcomed**

**Greetings from Colombia**


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